


will-o'-the-wisp song

by Maseba



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Attempted Murder, Dark Magic, F/F, F/M, Forced Marriage, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, Genocide, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Infant Death, Magical Pregnancy, Magical Realism, Mind Manipulation, Mother Complex, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Older Woman/Younger Man, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ritual Sex, Smut, Two Fathers, Underage Sex, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maseba/pseuds/Maseba
Summary: Please comment if you see a mistake or misspelling.This story is going to be long enough to have continuous failures, and i acept any advice... and this chapter is not exactly finished, because I am not happy with the result and I will probably make changes and expand the story, because I do not like that it feel so rushed.Enric is 17 years old, but there are no more minors.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	will-o'-the-wisp song

_The sound of the shot was heard all over the mountain._

A trickle of blood followed her path through the ravine. The white water was up to her chest and helped her not to collapse every time her feet sank into soft areas or hit the rocks of the stream. The woman could barely walk, she needed to be leaning against the rock wall, holding onto the edges with her hands to move forward. Everything around her is white. The blood from her neck was gushing furiously at every movement of her tired body, and Faza could have sworn that it was the water itself that was the only thing keeping her from collapsing, letting her life slip away from her.

Although she always felt it slip from her grasp, and so she had wanted to leave everything behind. But her stepson had come after her, and she had not been able to leave the past without grief. Shadows haunted her again. She had shot her stepson, shot her like she was killing everyone she hated. She felt evaporate all her suffering, in just an instant, until she saw him, with his chest open and blooded, and the barking of dogs forced her to regain consciousness and run. Leaving the young man lying on the ground, crying only for his dogs.

She looked at her fingers, already clean, but to her mind, that powder stains would never leave her hands, no matter how much she fled.

Her blood falls on the white water, and she just steps forward, pressing the wet and white mud into the wound. Her hands are bruised, from trying to remove the clay from the submerged roots of the willows, where the mud is softer. The color of the mud stains the bark and the treetops, making them lose their color. The clay covers the wound for a few moments, before cracking, without it having completely dried, and the blood slides out of it again, through her fingers. Faza pushes aside the long, whitish leaves, and thinks of spells that will make her forget the pain, but they are all useless if they are not said. The pain makes her unable to speak. She keeps moving forward, and breaks her nails to get more dirt, and the pain does not stop, but it is becoming more and more bearable.

Once, a woman who she hated told her that women get used to pain, and that's why they don't complain about everything they have to endure, and she told her that she did complain, just that nobody did any attention. Her father believed that pain gave force and that she should not complain about feeling it, only endure it, although she always denied that she wanted her bad.

Yale had told him that the beds of all the rivers that originated in the nearby mountains were made of this white clay. Mountain mens said that it cured the muscle aches of the elderly, and they gave it to children when their teeth were slow to come out because they lacked something that the mud had and that children needed to grow.

The maid Yale had been her husband's governess, she had come to the house at the age of 23 and had never left it again, even when she no longer had any children to care for, but she remained there because the family still loved her. Her hair was already gray when she started taking care of Enric. She relieved the boy's pain, he was alone, away from his mother, his nurse, and his friend, he needed not everything to change around him, and the old woman, hunched over and with tired eyes, seemed more immovable for the house than his own father, so he clung to her. And she loves him too.

Yale always told them that, at first, she had worried about the relationship the two would have. She had expected them to hate each other, as stepmothers and children hated each other in all stories, because those stories were ancient, but she knew they would repeat themselves, with other names and other places, until the end of time. But Enric didn't blame Faza for anything, he turned out to be very attached to his childish stepmother, and she loved being with the boy more than anything else. The old woman soon got used to finding them together and took care of them both, and she was quick to appreciate her, and loved the young dame as she loved all her educational sons, the name she called the two great lords she had raised.

Faza knew that her flight had broken her tired heart, although she no longer knew how many times it had been broken because of her, and it hurt her, too, being separated was painful. Yale had been one of the few people in her husband's house who had understood her inexperience. To the woman, it was evident that the young lady was still a young girl, who preferred to act more like her stepson's playmate than her stepmother. When time passed, the old woman saw sadly how Ms. Bug was growing up, and she no longer wanted to play children's games, but to be an adult.

The dame wanted to influence the country and control its lands, and the child that she adored was less innocent, and his blond hair was already dark, and he wanted to be the new lord now and called his mother to be in the house. Her house.

She was the only person in that house who had defended her. Yale said that despite being old, she still didn't know how the world was going, but she knew that those people were hungry, and they made her feel sorry for them, because she never lacked anything to eat, not even before she got home, when I was poor. And the lady could not see the condition and stay still, or her heart would die inside her. And in the end, during the revolts of the splinters,to Faza she was the only person in the whole country who did not hate her. And for that, she was also the only one who felt sorry for her and her little one.

No one knew what was wrong with him, only that he was fading. The young mother feared that it was fate because of her birth, as her father said, because her son had been born from the fruit of a tree fed with her blood.

When she married, her husband was already old, her mother and father knew it, but her old age could have been mild. She told him, the night before he left, that even knowing before the marriage was arranged, when they saw him for the first time, her father was so scared that he wanted to break the engagement, and they argued in the store for hours. He did not accept it until he saw Enric enter, he had come to offer more dowry in his father's name. Faza believed her mother was exaggerating, but when she saw the lord, she was repulsed. He was handicapped, his condition did not respond to his real age, the battles shortened his life, and the banquets poisoned his body.

His legs were of various dark colours, he couldn't even stand up. Faza was glad that he had lost mobility, but her father was not happy, because they weren't having children to inherit him, and without being a mother, repudiating her was as easy as telling her to get out of the house. What had calmed her anxiety when newly married, after a year, causing her pain, knowing that everyone, in the town and at home, was talking about not having children yet.

One night, a man appeared at the door of their house, he carried an orange tree on his back and his eyes were old like the mountain. To Faza that man looked like a mushroom. The man was a witch, he had heard rumors that the lord was already old, but his wife wanted a son. He told them that, in exchange for a few coins, he would give them a son of their own blood, born from a fruit, from a tree fed on them. And Faza gave her all the gold she could find, Yale had to stop her before she gave him her wedding ring.

For a month, they were watering the orange tree with their mixed blood every night, but with more of her blood, because Faza wanted the child to be more hers than her husband's. Two oranges grew, red on the outside and with white inside. The man dried the slices of one, and gave it to her, wrapped in sugar, so that she would keep it and eat them when she wanted to have another child. She separated the second fruit in two, the orange and the bones, to which she added the seeds of the candied orange, making her eat the fruit and putting the bones in her inside. The heat of her womb melted them, leaving the seed deep in her womb, impregnating her with a child, who would be born as fast as stem sprouts.

Yale had suffered from her pain as if she were her real mother. She spent sleepless nights looking at them, trying to calm her and the child. In the last attempt, when they were already desperate, she told her about the mud, even if she didn't believe it, they said it was good for the little ones, so that she could try to give it to her child. _  
_

_The young lady is sitting at the kitchen table while her son plays between her legs, wanting to catch her feet. She stirs a jar full of white clay and takes out the small impurities, until she squashes it in a strainer, pouring water and lemon into it to pass, leaving the mixture on a plate._

_Enric had brought it that morning, for his half brother, and he and Yale had tried to get the two-year-old to eat it, but he hadn't wanted to._

_\- Who is born from a tree, dies with its flowers. You should know it._

_Faza grabs the boy, who hooks onto her hoop earrings to stretch her ears and dips two fingers into the mixture. When she has picked up enough clay, she forces it into her little one, all the way to the end of her mouth, so that she cannot spit it out. The child fidgets and cries, and tries to bite his mother's fingers with his few baby teeth. She did not like the taste and did not want to drink it. And her mother had had to force her._

_\- This child will not live long, and you only make him suffer for nothing. Faza, let him play before he dies._ _  
_

Faza continued to collect the mud, even though she never heard anyone say that it closed wounds.

Her father had told her that the boy would die. He only told her the bad things. He had told her that he only wanted her to accept reality, to leave the child calmed, and it would not hurt so much when his death happened. She hated him, yelled him out of the house, and almost lost her voice doing that. Faza was sure that her father was enraged because she was wasting her efforts on a grandson he did not want. The brunette knew that he wanted her to stop caring for the first baby and have another child, a healthy one, conceived naturally.

\- _He doesn't have to be your husband's son, just have his blood._

Faza didn't understand what her father meant. He had told it to her stepson, and Enric had told her, furious that this man wanted his brother dead.

_\- Your father seemed to want you to suffer._

She was sure he had told her to punish her, because he didn't usually hit her, but he always humiliated her when she did something he didn't like. He constantly repeated all her defects to her mother, he told her it in such a way that all seemed to be her own defects. He spoke to her about what other people said about her daughter, that he had heard that they called her weird and proud, and that the other young women did not like her. And that’s why their daughter was always alone, playing with animals instead of persons..

And her mother was always aware of her behavior, sometimes she hit her when she ignored her claims, and other times, Faza stopped alone, because she seemed that her mother was going to break down only to see her dancing, or catching butterflies in front of strangers...

Faza descended until the walls of the ravine opened to the forest, and the stream became wide. The lagoons of the clear well were three natural pools, which cascaded, one over the other. The last one emptied into the open river, which led to the fields of the hermitage.

Carey was waiting for her there, she lived further away, passing the fishermen's houses and going up a hill, next to the hermitage, in the house of the judge of the province, her master. The brunette had convinced her friend to stay in the hermitage so that no one would see her, she would be alone, until the arrival of spring, and she would have time to prepare her trip.

The fishermen held parties when the snow melted and had water for the fields, but they were at home during the winter, and the hermitage would be empty until spring.

Her hands were cold when she crossed the lagoons, she was close to the edge, so as not to stop standing and getting lost in the waters, because the white water was so opaque that the bottom could not be seen, and some fishermen said that the fish were so big that could devour mens. The woman barely had the strength to lift her head, she kept it down and watched the flow of the water to follow her, absorbed, without thinking about anything.

Grandma had always told her that spring was the time to party, and winter was the time to warm up in the house, and that was the case everywhere, even where winter goes backward, and people have to celebrate the end of the year in summer. Winter was approaching, it was already cold, and she wanted to warm herself in her arms, wrapped in a plaid woven blanket, as she did every afternoon when she was little. Until she fell asleep from the heat.

The cold of the river water woke her. That stretch was pretty deep, so she didn't hit hard to the bottom when she sank heavily. She had slipped on the moss on the rocks that separated the last lagoon from the river. She felt her chest burning long after she surfaced, carried away by the current. The water was pure and crystal clear but breathing it felt like breathing the black liquid from candles. She thought that was why she hadn't drowned, because the water was as thick as tar, and it made her float instead of submerging her, like her blood.

That thought did not reassure her, because she was not afraid of drowning. She was afraid that the wound could be poisoned, of the poison that her stepson used in all her weapons, which made the wounds not stop bleeding. Then the wound would not close and she would lose her soul.

Her grandmother used to tell her that people can lose their souls even before they die, and go on living without souls. They have no color, they are pale like the dead, and they feel nothing, only anguish, because their soul has already gone out of this world, to a very cold place, and that nobody knows. If they do not find an enlightened person to heal their spirit wound, they stay that way until they die on the day that was marked.

_\- Blood is the soul within the body, and when you die, the blood dries up and becomes hard. The soul keeps it liquid, traps it in the body. My girl, you have to be careful about falling, because every time you hurt yourself, a little part of your soul escapes. You can even lose it from watching others lose theirs. That is why those who return from the war have dead eyes, even when they say that the dead have more._

And she was about to lose it. She had followed the current to a low area and had managed to crawl out. In the distance, she could see the colorful houses of the town, with their red tile roofs, each a different color.

She walked along the shore, the mud was hardening until it was dry land. She moved slowly among the small orchards of the fishermen, full of tomatoes and fallow land. She just felt cold, she was numb from everything, away from the memories that were repeating in her mind, and oblivious to the pain she had throughout her body. She was withdrawing from reality and losing herself in delirium, just to feel better.

She thought of her stepson, in how he used to be before everything, that Enric who would hug and warm her, and do whatever she asked because he loved her. He had loved her since he was little, though she realized later of all.

Faza remembered her stepson the first day she saw her: Enric was a blond boy, who seemed more adult than she was. Her almond brown eyes already seemed sharp to her even at that moment. They spent most of the day together, playing. They were running away from her husband and mother-in-law, who just wanted her to walk around the house, ordering the maids to do what they were already doing. Not so that they would do better, but so that they would hear her ordering and say that the new lady was very strict and the enemies from outside and inside would know that she was watching them.

She was the only person he knew close to his age. Before she got to the big house, he was alone. The servants had not wanted to take their children to that house, and they told the gentlemen that it was because of the remoteness of the farmhouse from the town. Only the nurse had kept her son there, a boy smaller than himself. Yale said he was a saint. The two of them often went to town, they got on the cart with her, when she went to buy what they lacked, but the boy was too curious and liked to look out, and one day he fell under the wheels. After his friend died, his stepson hadn't wanted to go back to town, and he hadn't met anyone. Until she arrived: older but still wanting to play.

_\- You still like to play._

Her husband had said it badly, like everything that is said without it being necessary to say it. He had bothered her, because she was closer to the age of her stepson than to that of anyone in that house, and it was normal that she preferred spending time with him than with others. She had only been a woman for three years, and besides, she didn't play, she investigated nature.

And they would escape going to the forest, to see the insects, and stick them with needles in some black boxes. They kept them to get the colors out of them and put them in their eyes and foreheads, and to make jewelry out of their hard, shiny shells. They came home painted, they looked like bugs, and Yale called her Misis Bug.

If she just stopped to rest near the river, then he would see her, he would comfort and heal her wound, and take her back to the big house, where she would be surrounded by luxury. He would rewarm her, and kiss her all night. Until the cold was forgotten.

That night her husband was still alive and she was pregnant with her second child.

Her little boy was already talking and walking, and his mother could lower him from her arms and set him free, but when he was bored, he wanted to return to her arms, and Faza thought that if she did not leave him alone, he would not grow. Her son needed a friend, and Enric had convinced her stepmother that eating the orange sweets would get her pregnant again, even if she didn't have the seeds. So that his brother wouldn't feel so alone, because the brothers play together, but he was too old to play. And she had eaten them. They were lying on the couches while she ate the orange slices. He watched her silently, keeping his hands on her belly, until she finished them and lifted her dress eagerly, leaving her belly naked. She was thrilled to feel the weight on her belly already, happy and unconscious, she didn't give it much thought when he kissed her exposed skin.

She had been treating her stepson as if she was still a child who knew nothing of life, even when her hair had grown darker. Many children are born blonde, and in summer, sunlight burns some strands and makes them more golden. Until they get older and their hair gets darker and remains the color of ash.

She and her stepson were in high spirits after being in the woods all day. Faza had woken up with a craving for blackberries, so they had gone to pick the ripe fruits. Her son ran from one side to the other, stumbling around chasing birds and bees, and only stopped to hug his mother. Enric had been very attached to her all day, he used any excuse to touch her and get her attention, and the little boy had become jealous. They had been in a fight over her since she announced the good news a week ago.

They were already in their son's room, Faza had raised her to the crib and had tucked her in when her stepson passed her hand from behind to her center. He was holding her slightly rounded belly and asked if she was feeling bad. She had had a very bad pregnancy, so much so that everyone in the house thought she was going to die, because she would not pass nine months like that, but she only passed a month before her brother was born. Her stepmother was dizzy, she vomited everything she ate, in six days she could no longer be on her feet, from fatigue, and she had to spend the last weeks lying down. Yale had told him that if her pregnancy had lasted more, the young dame would probably die, and she would have chased the witcher for all the country, even the underground.

The new pregnancy had scared Yale and her mother, and the maids had told her if it was not better to wait for a midwife to come from town and take care of her. They made her doubt, she had been very happy, his words anguished her, and she was becoming more and more nervous because the baby was growing very slowly, but Enric calmed her, and touched her belly each time she felt bad, telling her that everything that happened was natural.

Her stepson seemed radiant, and his silly smile and her illusion for that son rubbed off on her.

The confidence she had in the young man she had known since childhood, blinded her to recognize his behavior. Faza had not seen the maids again, and her mother had changed her mind after talking to him.

Enric seemed in glory when his stepmother leaned against and told him that his affectionate touch soothed her. He was stroking her belly over her blouse, in circular movements, each time wider. She tensed when he began to brush against her chest, slowing down his hand each time he touched them.

The kid got up from the crib and latched onto his mother's breasts, saying he was hungry. Despite his jealousy, the child was half asleep and too tired to put up a serious fight, so his mother, instead of indulging him, held him against her for a while to make him fall asleep. They were embraced over the hand of her stepson, who continued to touch her breasts even when his little brother wanted to claim their mother. She let him sleep in his crib when she noticed that his head had gone limp in her hand.

Faza was tense, she had noticed for the first time the look of her stepson on her, it was a thirsty look, like that of a man, and it scared her. He hadn't let go of her, not even when his little brother was in her arms, his hand was still touching her, and his touch was nothing innocent. She rolled over trying to get out of her embrace and leaned against the edge of the crib, complaining that her little brother didn't want to eat solid foods. Her stepson laughed and argued that her brother wanted it all done and that if she could drink her milk without straining to suckle, she wouldn't suck either, as a lazy baby. He said that meanwhile he trapped her again, he had put his hands on the edge of the crib, locking her against him. He was on her, she could feel the hot air from his mouth, he put his lips on her forehead, brushing her skin, almost kissing her. She looked like a deer under his touch, turning her head a little away from his wide eyes. He was pondering what to say to her, and he cupped her cheeks to reassure her, and answered in a whisper that he would not want any more food than hers.

_\- You are very beautiful, your cheeks and mouth turn red and you make small moans._

She began to fidget, feeling the heat of his body, and his closeness was scaring her. It had gotten out of her grasp, and backed off a bit, before trying to run down the hall and call for help. Her stepson came after her and grabbed her when she had almost reached the door and was about to open it. He grabbed her head and gave her a shallow kiss and had to give up deepening it when Faza tried to bite him, desperate to flee. She tried to speak, she wasn't sure whether to ask him to stop or to force him to obey her, but as soon as she opened her mouth, he used his silk handkerchief to gag her.

He pulled her hair back and started down to run his tongue down her neck and chest. Her dress had torn open from the struggle, one of the fibulae on the sleeves had fallen off, exposing her skin bleached from sponges and baths. Her round, milk-filled nipple looked beautiful and full, and he started sucking on her brownish nipple. Faza tried to free herself and struggled harder as her stepson removed the other fibula, freeing her other breast for his touch.

He pushed her against the wall, holding both hands above her head, and continued kissing her body. She would squeeze one breast with her free hand and the other with her mouth, and small streams of white milk came out, which her stepson licked greedily. She watched him follow her jerks and attempt to regain control with his sharp eyes that seemed to stab at her like a dagger of lust. When the poor girl managed to free her hands, push him off her chest, her nipples were still dripping milk. Enric knelt between her legs without letting go of her, preventing her from escaping, while he raised the skirt of her nightgown and lowered her panties, despite the struggles and crying. She didn't stop until she had completely stripped her pubis, her black curls the only thing blocking her little maroon folds from her sight.

She squealed and tried to turn him head away when he buried his face in her sex, began to lick her unprotected slit, holding her thighs open with his hands and sucking on her button until he felt her wetness.

The woman tugged at his darkened curls, and thought she must have realized the intention of his touches, his desire for her. Enric was already an adult, his eyes fixed like daggers on his reddened face as he demonstrated it.

Faza had been whimpering, pleading under the gag, pushing her face away, trying to get away from her tongue, but she wasn't able to free herself from her stepson. Her belly gave little spasms and her legs shook every time her stepson licked a tender spot. She meowed through the cloth that she thought was hurting the baby, but he kept eating her. Gently, running his tongue inside her lips whenever it felt too wet, and coming back to her clitoris when he cleaned her, putting the tip of his tongue on the sensitive skin between her vagina and his button, pressing it, until the woman stopped resisting, and let herself be sucked. He opened her, to put his tongue all the way, caressing the inner wall, leaving his nose pressed against her slit, smelling her.

Faza felt the tension growing in her belly, the burning in her sex increasing as her stepson returned to paying attention to her button. Her vision cleared, and the tension reached its peak, to explode inside her, and dissipate. The young mother had begun to tremble, Enric noticed the spasms of her legs and prepared himself, he sank deeper into her, to cover her opening, while he held her between his arms, not letting her fall, nor closing her thighs. Her stepmother came in his mouth.

Enric swallowed her juices like they were honey and smiled at her. He looked really beautiful, he even seemed to have lost his sharp gaze and was looking at her with soft eyes. He ran his tongue down her crotch, picking up the strands of her coming that had escaped. Faza relaxed, but he burrowed himself back into her folds to continue teasing her clit, she squirmed a bit and moaned no because her flesh was too tender for her to continue. But he'd managed to leave her too exhausted to fight, and she only squirmed a little, until her stepson raised a hand to pinch her chest in warning, and she flinched in pain, hiding. She saw him staring at her, his serious face, silently scolding her. He let go of her earthy nipple, Faza realized that he had stained his fingers with milk, when the liquid felt cold against his skin, while his stepson lowered his hand, caressing his belly, and returned to get between his legs. The brunette could do nothing more than allow him to continue feeding on her until her sweetness satisfied the blond men.

He had recognized her discomfort and the reason for it: he saw her folds were too tender and swollen from her orgasm, but he didn't want to stop, he wanted her and he wanted to see her melt for him a second time. He would continue. Enric punished her quickly, at the first sign of rebellion, to prevent further resistance. The only look he attended was understanding that he should eat her more tenderly, he would no longer suck her, only lick her so as not to be so hard, slowly. His tongue began to circle her clit, and she felt it swell a little more. Her arousal was returning and he put his tongue over her entrance, to savor her fluids.

The pleasure did not cover her pain enough and she cried again, this time to herself. Her stepson stopped, staring at her, still with his face on her vulva, and, for an instant, she thought he was going to stop. He seemed to meditate in silence, nervous, his hands moving over her thighs, massaging them, before patting them, and kissing her belly, which trembled under his touch. Finally, he sank again and continued sucking on her sex, until her stepmother trembled and cried harder.

He had to hold her in his arms because her legs were already giving out and she couldn't support herself. He let her slide slowly onto her back, separating from her pussy only to gently lay her on the carpet. Enric positioned himself over her, gave a few superficial pinches to her nipples, and covered her opening again. He spread her thighs a little wider and used his fingers, moistened with her milk, to press rhythmically around her clit and over the sensitive skin of her bladder. The mother came for the second time, and he gurgled as he was filled with her, licking the aftershocks.

He looked up at her stepmother. Faza looked gorgeous on the embroidered rug. She was taking quick breaths, and her chest was glistening with a little dried milk, her face was sweaty and flushed, with some strands of black hair that, from the moisture of sweat and tears, stuck to her face. Her mouth was open between the gag, gasping for air, her plump lips swollen and dark from the arousal and friction of the fabric, and her eyes were lost in an orgasmic haze.

She was beaten, defeated by him. Seeing her like this finished hardening completely the lover aspirant, his cock ached against pants. He pressed her chest, trying to bring her out of lethargy, although he only got her milk. As he watched her gone, he wondered if she was weak enough to penetrate her.

He knew that no, his stepmother had to be much more tired and defenseless to let him take her. And the young man laughed because only old women thought that their father's cock could make mothers sick and hurt the baby. But Faza believed in everything her grandmother believed, and he was sure that if she had a thread of meaning left when he entered her, the precious mother would gouge out his eyes.

Faza felt him caress her face, lifting her head gently to remove the gag and remove the hair from her face, stretching it out on the rug. He ran a finger over her parted lips, before he kissed her gently, on her mouth, her full belly, and her pubis, before he began to suck her for the third time. And her crying was continuous.

_\- Please, please, son, I beg you, I can't take it anymore, forgive me, instead... you can drink from my breasts as you want, I know you like them, but I can't do this, it hurts, I can't anymore ... already .. .ah!_

Enric heard her pleas, but he did not stop, he continued to eat her until he felt her thighs tremble and devour the third orgasm of his beautiful love. She was lying on the ground, without strength, and her slit was swollen and sore. The young man gave another kiss on her slit, and collected with his tongue the last wet drops of her cum, before leaving her sex and allowing her to close legs.

He ran his hand down her back and lifted her off the ground, carrying her in his arms to carry her to his room. Faza was exhausted, it seemed that she was going to fall asleep like small children. She rested her head on her stepson's chest, letting him carry herself away, although she did not realize that she was walking down the hall. She only made a few small groans when her stepson laid her on the bed and stripped her completely, leaving the clothes on the open window. He wanted to see her, even if it was without a proper light, only the moon. She hadn't changed much since giving birth. Her body has not had time to change before his brother was born, her waist and hips were very marked, and her skin was very white, the result of her baths with exfoliating salts, which left her skin like the parched skin of a healed wound.

Her cheeks and lips were reddened, seemed to burn and he kissed her hard, without fear of her teeth. He lay on her and continued attacking her lips, covering her moans, kneading her breasts with both hands, and began to run his finger over the tips, stimulating her nipples. Her breasts were small, his hands covered them completely, he stretched one of the tits, pressing it on the nipple, to see the milk come out. As soon as he saw her drip, he hooked his mouth to the breast, sucking softly, while she gave little moans. His stepmother was too tired to stay awake, and when he saw her close her eyes, he let her fall asleep.

She doesn't know how long he was drinking her milk, touching her over her fear, but every time she woke up, Enric was still there. The last times she woke up slightly, she found him still on her chest, digging his fingers into her, brushing his penis between her folds as he kissed her neck, staining her slit with his semen. When she felt it sticking the tip into her opening, Faza tried to move her hands up to her stepson's face. His eyes narrowed for pleasure, aware of the advance within them, he didn't see his movement until her nails were almost to his lids. Enric quickly turned his face away and held her hands on either side of her head. The force with which he squeezed them hurt her wrists and her head was saturated as he kissed her temples, whispering in her ear his love for her and the baby.

Faza felt the hardness of her stepson opening her before losing consciousness.

She kept walking, away from the shore, and from her memories. For many reasons, although Enric did not understand and that hateful woman called her exaggerated. Her stepson's mother always pretended that his arrival had left her almost secluded and despised. To make her look bad, and that everyone would think that she wanted to spoil the lord, that she did not mind breaking families to have a little more gold. Faza knew from rumors that her parties were a bacchanal and that she had never been so free. 

Faza would have ripped her tongue out every time she saw her.

When her husband died, she had spent a year thinking about whether to go back to her parents' house or stay in the border. Widows could do whatever they wanted, they no longer had obligations, and she could stay at her husband's house or return to hers own. But she endured a year because even if no one could stop her from going to live alone, she was prevented by money, and she would not return home while her father was still there. When she learned of her death, she decided that she would return home so as not to leave her mother alone.

That night she just left, saying nothing to anyone because her stepson would try to stop her. She only told Yale, only to not split over the old woman love.

She did not pick up anything that she could not carry without occupying her hands: some money and her jewels in a small sack tied to her belt, her son's rattle tucked in a hidden pocket of his cape, and a pistol in the side slit of her dress, she hoped she didn't have to wear it but the road was full of bandits. She leaped over the back wall and turned out of the way into the woods.

The night before, she had told Carey that he would go to her house for a few days and that she would prepare her trip there. They had their own language: they put pumpkin and sunflower seeds in the window to attract the birds and they hid, to jump and catch it when they saw one. Their favorites were sparrows, they asked them to let them pat their heads and they spoke to them about what they wanted to say. Their beaks guarded their words, and when the other scratched their heads, they repeated them. And nobody knew what they were saying to each other...

Faza had stopped feeling pain and fear, the woman only felt the cold. She thought that her soul was already in the realm of the dead, from the cold, her bones had frozen, and her skin turned white. She did not notice her body, she raised and looked at her hands to check that she still had. She thought deliriously that if it were snowy she would not be able to distinguish its outline from the snow below, and when she finally collapsed, her body would have melted into the snow and no one would find her.

She was lying on the ground when she realized that she felt a wetness on her cheek. Carey's dog was sniffing her and she touched his nose before falling asleep.

When Fasa first woke up, the sheets were spreading the heat from the embers under the bed. They were wrapped in blankets, next to her feet, all over her body, and she felt lulled. She wasn't really awake, and the warmth reminded her of the one she felt in her heart the same day her grandmother's soul appeared to her.

Sometimes people dream impossible things.

After her grandmother died, she could only think about seeing her and that they hadn't let her go see her while she was still alive. She did not argue when her husband told her that he did not think it was convenient, because the road was too long, and she was pregnant. She also didn't scream all she wanted to scream when her father wrote to her, lying about her condition, to convince her that she didn't have to go. Fasa had to swallow her bile with rage every time he thought about it, and she couldn't think of anything else. Her head returned to the same point, she had to see her grandmother and get revenge.

She was locked up for days without eating or drinking, conjuring her presence through the ring she had given her, and only came out of her confinement to prick her husband's swollen and almost rotten leg. She had sworn that doctors cured gout by bleeding and had a merchant brought in to confirm it. He denied the effectiveness of this remedy, he had traveled all over the world and knew it did not work, but he also told her that the only cure was to eat moderately, and it did not take her husband half a day to accept the bleeding. 

She would drive the glass tubes into him and twist them before releasing them to let the blood fall into a basin and she thought that her husband was an ugly and useless old man. She thought that he was letting her son die.

He said that children had to be able to endure illness without anyone intervening, or when they would get used to the medicine and die, older. The man found it sadder than a person who had already spent his life with his family died, and that for that reason it was preferable to sick children dying when they were young.

_\- The death of those who spend a little time in your life is better assumed_

And he didn't care that she cried, or that his eldest son found a healer who could help them. Nor that his lover offered to take the little boy to her home on the coast, even though Faza hated her. She blamed that woman for everything. And she had to shut up when Enric told her that she wanted to help them. She was sure that he let her son die because he thought the second would be healthier, and he didn't want to spend money on the first, but the baby in her womb was not his son. The rage drove her mad, she was painfully glad when she thought that that old man let his son die for a child that was not his.

With the blood she made offerings to the mysteries, they would devour the life of her husband, and they would call grandmother. Her grandmother would know what to do to heal her son. The mixture of blood with oleanders and stones from within the damp earth was always under her bed, and on the ninth night, she came to calm her and felt absolute tranquility. The feeling of love intoxicated her.

It is said that the living never remember what the dead told them, even if they know they were told it. Her soul had advised her granddaughter not to wish for what she could not get, she told her in life, to convince her not to try to be named as Lord, and she told her his death when she asked about her son, but Faza hadn't listened to her. Desires can cloud the mind, and youth made her want everything.

Her mind was lost in a haze, and she was not able to differentiate when she was asleep or when she was awake, the two states merged while she dreamed that she hugged her grandmother and children, and looked at what her mother was doing among the living.

Her grandmother always took care of her when she was little, because her mother was easily ill, and that is why she had not been able to have more siblings. She hugged her and sang to her. She taught him to sing, to recite ancient poems to heal wounds and to calm the animals and read the wind and to grind bones and mix them with the earth so that the plants would not die in the frost and could eat their fruits. The first time he ate ballad petals, his father was enraged because she was teaching him dangerous things, but his grandmother would only put her finger over her mouth and her father would be quiet, and he would not bother again until another day when they argued again.

She felt her hands on her face and brushing against the wound, she stroked her head and combed it, untangling the knots that were being made, and it occurred to her that she must be scared to see her hair so disastrous because she liked to comb it until she managed to curl the light and dark waves she had and smeared oil on her curls so that the little hairs stayed together and did not stand out, and she said that the ladies should have perfect hair, that wearing it without care was peasant, and she thinks she must be frustrated but she was calm when she kissed her forehead. Her presence eased the pain.

Carey liked to see her because she always slept placid and smiling, and she had more and more color. From time to time, Faza murmured, trying to sing, and caressed her belly, she looked at her and didn't know what to do. She prepared her to drink water with honey and lemon, she crushed licorice in a mortar so that she could drink it along with the rest of the crushed food, thus her voice was sweetened and she did not sound so strident.

They were as beautiful as two suns. The little three-year-old kept his cheeks inflated and a small nose, he was still around, like a newborn. She kept calling him a baby. The two were on her, the little one inside her womb, and the older one on her brother, hugging them both.

The first time he opened his eyes, Faza did not understand anything for a while. The woman didn't know where she was, or where her children were, and she stared straight ahead, looking at swords hanging on the wall above the border painted in earth red. She was counting the rhombuses without thinking about anything when a lick on her arm brought her back to reality, and she heard a sniff and a woman's voice telling the dog to move away.

Faza remembered that dog, Maro always ran away to where her son was so that she could give her whatever he was eating. Her son always said that the dog love him and she proved it by tracking his scent from miles away.

_\- The love of the dog is the crumbs that you drop, baby._

The judge's apprentice was slowly approaching her as they looked at each other. Carey asked her how she felt and put a hand on her forehead to feel her fever. Faza did not answer, all her thoughts were on her friend's gaze, she always seemed to look as if she had a star on her forehead, which kept her on her way and helped with any questions. Her grandmother used to say that if someone ate a starfish, they would have a bright path because starfish are the stars in the sky, but they are in the water during the day. The sea swallows them every time the sun rises.

_\- I want to eat a star, so that it stays deep inside my chest, and guides me too._

So she couldn't be lost again.

The young master was recovering from the gunshot, and the Yale maid felt his pain as if provoked to her. The girl had confessed that she planned to flee that night, with almost no money, and with some jewels that the most that would do for her would be to attract the focus of the bandits.

Enric had been agitated the last few days, she knew that for a year he had been dragging the sadness over the death of his brother, and the loss of his son. They had sunk him. Yale saw it when he took the lady bug and hugged her against him. He stayed like this, with his stepmother resting on his chest, until she remembered her children and cried, and he curled his mouth and left. He did not want to cry and had to swallow the tears. And he was going to close all the curtains so that no one would see him. The great lords were cruelty made men, they would consider him unworthy to the slight display of weakness, and his enemies might kill him, to take his place.

The lords inherited the noble title only when the previous one died in their hands. He had inherited the title from his father, and the old woman suffered in silence when she saw her first child dead, because she knew what that meant. Although she understood him, as she understood all the rage of the little bug.

Her boy had to maintain his dignity, but he couldn't keep his cool when Faza told him she was leaving. His jaw was clenched and his lower lip trembled, and he stared straight ahead for a while, but at nothing in particular, it almost looked like he was going to break his teeth, and his eyes were bright.

Because he wanted to marry her and she wanted to go home. To the real one, the house where she spent her childhood playing with her mother and grandmother, and where everyone loved her. One day, the lady told her that, because she loved each other, she said that in that house even the bees on the garden wall, which attacked everyone except her when she climbed and hid among the bougainvilleas, loved her. Only she wanted her there.

The woman approached the bed and covered the boy with another blanket. Her child always had everything she wanted, not breaking down in tears did not mean accepting her will. Enric found a thousand reasons why she could not leave: the dangers of the coming snowfalls, the pity it would be if she missed the town festivals that she liked so much, how dangerous it was to travel when she was still recovering. After a month it was obvious that he would not let her go.

And when Mrs. Nur came to the house to be with her son, the girl told her that she would leave that house, and she could not refuse to help her. He only told her that her father would return her and that she had nowhere to go, she swore that she would help her when her father died. And her father had died and she no longer knew what to say to him. It had been many months since she knew how to defend her boy, not since the girl had said that she was doing it before her mother came home...

She knew why the girl wanted to run away, and she was also clear that she could no longer return.

Yale had jumped out of the bed in the dead of night when she heard the girl's screams. The maid was old and her bones were loose for the fight, but she had grabbed the massive bronze chandelier from the hall and had run to the lady's room, hearing her scream. Several guards forced her to drop the gun, but she had to lower her head for what she saw, not for the men she really couldn't face. For a few moments, she did not dare to approach or speak in her defense as she watched her masters mistreat her lady. 

Her boy, the little student she adored, who kept cookies for her to secretly give her, was holding the young stepmother's two arms above her head. With one hand, he held her arms, while grabbing her thigh and holding her leg up with the other, forcing her thighs apart. Showing the whole room the intimacy of the girl.

She was crying out of humiliation and pain, her thigh was blackening from Enric's roughness, causing a bruise under his fingers, and she was choking on the gag that prevented her from speaking. She sucked on the crystal ball tied to her mouth so as not to drool in front of so many men, especially when they are exposed in that way. Yale became even sourer, to see those men pleased with the sight of the beautiful naked pussy.

Seeing that no one reprimanded her, Yale reached over to caress her face and comfort her. She twisted in the arms of her stepson, to throw herself at her chest crying, the maid hugged her. He kept his face hidden against her, the old woman covered her eyes, so that she would not see what was happening, nor would he have to bear the smiles of the guards, nor the hateful face of that woman, nor the anguish of his father. Her father was looking at her, his face was blank and he looked like he wanted to cry, but nothing made Yale think that he would help his daughter. They had called him to make sure that nothing was done to his daughter that he did not allow, but he was silent, even as that woman's fingers sank into his tender folds, searching for the wounds that proved her crime ...

And Yale began to cry, although she knew that they would not find anything, because she herself had prepared the paste of nettles and thistles ground in oil, and had sought the myrrh. Her wounds had healed within days, and they weren't going to be able to accuse her little bug. But she was scared, that woman was frustrated for not finding anything, and was becoming more and more violent, she was digging her fingers into her furiously and trying to open her entrance to look inside. The girl writhed in pain, her screams were heard through the gag, and she sank into her chest. The poor woman lost her cool and raised her hand to Mrs. Noor. She might order her teeth pulled out for what she had done, but her slap and screaming seemed to convince the woman to leave her mistress.

She wasn't finding what she was looking for, and that proved she was innocent. And that made her even more angry.

_\- It is a misfortune that sometimes happens and that cannot be avoided. I'm sorry to have accused you, my daughter, but the good thing is that you already seem to have recovered. Everyone, except the maid, out. We have to heal her._

Before heading out the door with the guards, Yale glanced at the man she recognized by sight and hearing, had approached his daughter, to kiss her forehead and say goodbye before leaving. 

_\- Just remember that the forget exists, my child._

Her father's words penetrated the girl to the marrow of her bones, and she felt her sink limply into Yale arms. Her little girl hated her father for good reason, and she hated herself for having been trying to convince the girl that her father only wanted the best for her all those years. That man was really selling her to the best payer.

But that woman did not change her mind: while the girl continued to cry on her chest, the older woman felt her tense. The lord's mother began to lick her, running her soft tongue over the places she had mistreated, so sweetly that she looked like a lover. Her acios weren't calming her nor her pain, the anger was obvious in her eyes, but the teacher didn't know what she was thinking. She only saw how she was licking her until she left the girl wet and shivering.

Yale watched with horror as the woman got under the brunette's legs, until she passed them, and was kneeling in front of her son, to lick his bulge several times, giving a small bite to its tip, while he moaned, and got up smiling. Mrs. Nur pulled the girl's hair, to remove it from the chest of her only ally, and pressed the crystal ball with her tongue, plunging it into her mouth and causing the brunette to choke on her saliva. She grabbed her hips and drew her against his son, so she could feel his erection.

_\- That beautiful sound is killing my poor son. Don't you notice it? Don't worry, my girl, you clearly recover quickly, and we are not cruel. I know it is very difficult to lose a child, my own child is devastated by the loss, so I will not allow a young and beautiful girl like you to have to suffer for a long time._

Her hand pinched the younger girl's button, and she reached down between her legs again, to suck her a bit, as his hand moved up her legs, releasing his son's erect cock.

_\- You were very badly cared for, poor Yale loves you, but she's just too old to help you. This time, I will take care of you. You'll see how with me, here, to watch over you, you won't be able to abort my grandson._

Because the night she fled her home, Faza had shot the lord of the border.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment if you see a mistake or misspelling.  
> This story is going to be long enough to have continuous failures, and i acept any advice... and this chapter is not exactly finished, because I am not happy with the result and I will probably make changes and expand the story, because I do not like that it feel so rushed.
> 
> Enric is 17 years old, but there are no more minors.


End file.
